


Slap's Kinktober 2018

by 1800areyouslapping



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Degradation, Hybrids, Incest, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 18:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 19,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16837876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1800areyouslapping/pseuds/1800areyouslapping
Summary: Not all the fics/drabbles here are rape/noncon or incest. I'll make sure to state whether or not they are in chapter titles and the descriptions, so you can pick and choose easier.





	1. Sojiro x Concubine!reader

“You are my favorite girl,” Sojiro said to you. 

Sojiro pets your hair, like a small kitten nestled in-between his legs. You licked up the length of his shaft, traced his smooth veins with the tip of your tongue.

“Bet you say that to all your girls,” you said, playful and careful with your tone. You smile sweetly. Happy to be on your knees pleasing your leader. You sucked the tip of his length in your mouth with a hum. The specific indication of ‘girl’ led you to ask, “Who’s your favorite boy, Sir?” 

“In time, you will see,” he said. “I’d like to have you both entertain me when time permits it.”

You took his cock back into your mouth and enthusiastically tried to slip him into your throat. It just barely breached the tight space and you gaged. The tears that formed in your waterline from the last attempt rolled down your cheeks. You’d not trained out the pesky gag reflex yet. It’d take more practice to get you there. To the point where you can take a cock smoothly and expertly into your throat without bodily hinderance. A few of your fellow concubines, both girls and boys alike, had been kind enough to teach you tips and help you practice.

He was privy to your training not because you confess these things to him (though you happily and obediently would). But because he keeps a close eye on all of his concubines. In order to ensure they’re behaving—to his standards—surveillance cameras were generously placed in their living quarters, in the saunas, and the bathhouses. He knew some of the women and men to be spiteful and jealous. Partially the watchful eyes are for the safety of you and your fellow brothers and sisters. While he was not remised to admit that he quite enjoys watching his ladies and lads play in his spare time. 

Kind may have been a generous denotation to give to the men and women giving you experience. The older women had a simmer behind their wise eyes, their hands in each other’s underwear while they instructed you. You took a toy into your mouth and looked them both in the eyes while you did it. They had demanded you do so, and cruelly scolded you when your gaze faltered. The boys, some younger, one older simply seemed pleased just to have your clumsy mouth around their cocks. Took advantage of your determined, submissive nature. Hardly gave instruction or feedback. And left you the moment they came in your mouth.

Back lurching you gagged again, held onto the base of his cock, and pulled off, licking the strings of saliva from your swollen lips. “Sorry, Sir.”

He tutted, shook his head. “Nothing to apologize for, sweet girl.” He adored your struggle, the choking, the puffy face. Shows of determination to follow his orders make his blood boil with lust. Attempts that make you push your boundaries, no matter how little skill or how messy they may be are preferred—on most occasions—to the seasoned whores who have lost their luster.

He curled his fingers around the back of your neck, forced you back down. The very moment you opened your mouth wide enough he thrust his hips up. Choking you held on tight to his pants, mindful even in your state not to rip such expensive fabric. Whimpering you held back the urge to fight him. Fingers curling into fists on his thighs. Bare feet kicking up and down, thud-thudding on the hardwood floor. 

Every inch of him was in your mouth, deep down your throat. He held you flush with his crotch. You choked and gagged and slobbered. Sojiro groaned, long-lived and pleased. He sunk deeper in his chair. He throbbed inside your throat. And even though you could hardly see with the number of tears blurring your vision, and your body continued to want to reject the intrusion, your core warmed. Pangs of wanting flowered in your pelvis, over and over.

You desperately wanted to touch yourself, give some relief to your clit, pulsing and soaking wet within the confines of your panties. But a good girl keeps her hands were they were placed until instructed otherwise. So you clung to his pleated pants. He gradually he pulled you off his length, feeling the tension in his arm you took several, desperate deep breaths before he shoved your head back down. You took him once again all the way into your mouth and down your throat.

Sojiro laid your head down against his inner thigh, stroked his thumb across your cheek. “Stay like this a while,” he said. “Learn to love the feeling.”


	2. Alpha!Hanzo x Omega!Reader (Watersports)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha!Hanzo x Omega!Reader, featuring Watersports.

“I detest the way they look at you.” 

Hanzo followed you into the bathroom. A towel carelessly wrapped around his bare waist. You suggested he join you for a hot shower, you wished to wash your husband’s body and help soothe his nerves after a long, arduous day. 

“Hm?” Your towel dropped to the floor. Looking back over your shoulder you smiled wryly. “And how’s that, my love?”

“Like an available omega.”

“Ah,” you raised a cheeky shoulder, “so that’s what all the threatening whispers were about.” 

“I would have given them the–warning–myself…” Hanzo said. “Regrettably time didn’t allow me to.”

“Well,” you said as you daintily removed your wedding ring and placed it with a soft plink into its holder, “I’m sure they’re learning their lesson.” 

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of you. Pristine and virginal. Newly married and off your suppressants. Consummation saved for–the night. The night when your heat would hit and you’d soon have his pups growing inside your belly; the ultimate claim. But for the moment he needed to find a different way to further make it clear that you’re his. Because the rock, shiny and perfect, on your finger wasn’t enough. 

You step back into the walk-in shower offering a hand out to him. Pondering the problem at hand you offer: “It’s been a few weeks since you last fully scented me,” you said. “Perhaps you should do it again?”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

You grinned, delighted that he agreed. He disposes of his own towel and takes your hand. As he steps inside you diligently drop down to your knees. You lean back presenting your neck and your beautiful chest to him. “Bathe me,” you beg with a whimper.

Hanzo braced himself one handed on the wall, fisted his hardening cock and angled it downwards at the scent glands just underneath your ear. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes just for a single moment of concentration before the flow of piss streamed and splashed against your face. Quickly before the flow lightened he opened his eyes and watched it flow down the slopes of your neck and between the valley of your breasts. When it flowed between your legs you cupped your sex and pushed it up into your pussy. 

Powerful alpha pheromones seeped into your scent glands and into your pores. Too potent and concentrated to be washed away by even the most luxurious soaps. Your blood thrums with it, carrying a rush of desire straight into your clit. By the time Hanzo was done emptying himself on your body, you’d be smelling more of your alpha than yourself. Sweet, homely omega scent masked–but not overpowered–by the musk of a possessive dragon. Hanzo’s scent warm and comforting blanketed over your body, a treat for you, but would give tempted alphas more reason to avert their eyes. 

You had high hopes too, that the more he scented you, the faster you would plummet into your first heat and you could finally have his cock buried deep inside your body. You whined and licked your lips as it grew right before your eyes, pulsed with blood and sputtered its last few drops of savory piss. Curse the need for tradition; you’re a married woman. Hanzo, like most alphas, has a length that’s intimidating. But even though you don’t have the heavy flow of slick that comes with heats you’re wet just from looking at him. Hard muscle and hard cock; you want him badly.

But you knew better than to beg a man who’s hard pressed on tradition to be bred. Instead, you moaned as you rubbed the excess dew into your skin. Then settled for wrapping your hands around his shaft; you’d test to see if he’d let you fit your mouth around it too. “Cum on me,” you begged instead, “let them smell your seed on me as well.”


	3. Yakuza!Genji/Yakuza!Hanzo x Fem!Reader (NONCON)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakuza!Genji/Yakuza!Hanzo x Fem!Reader, NONCON.

Damn your coward of a boyfriend, and fuck him for getting you into this mess. If you knew where he was you’d give him up in a heartbeat. He’d never done a single good thing for you. And now you’re looking death in the face—faces of two hard-faced yakuza men. One with skin like marble and sculpted cheekbones who sits in a plush leather chair watching his younger brother interrogate you, wearing the most well-tailored, perfectly buttoned up, wrinkle-free suite you’ve ever seen. His brother, on the other hand, with messy lime green hair and even messier suite; dress shirt buttoned only halfway up his chest teasing glimpses of his colorful full chest tattoo stood ominously staring you down a few feet away. 

Genji looks you dead in the eyes as he unsheathes his short sword from the small of his back. He holds it out at his side and it glints in the dull light of the room. Your heart races, beads of sweat form in your hairline.

“Really hate to resort to such measures with ladies,” he says as he approaches you.

Hanzo scoffs. “Lies.”

Genji holds the sword directly in front of your face. Turns it over and back again showing it off and letting you really get a good glimpse of how sharp it is.

“Where did your boyfriend run off to?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head vigorously. Gagged, your desperate answer is muffled and the same as all the other times he asked you this question. “I don’t know!”

He presses the flat side of the blade against your cheek. You tremble from your head to your toes. You were already freezing; they had stripped you of your clothes—and your dignity—before they tied you to the chair your currently confined to. The men who had kidnapped you stated it was for ‘security purposes’, in order to make sure you weren’t packing with either weapons or wires, but a certain look in both of the brothers’ eyes suggests they’re getting off on watching you squirm in your underwear.

Genji waltzes around to the back of the chair. In a flash, the blade is at your throat and he’s in your ear. “Are you sure about that?” His warm breath tickles the shell of your ear and sends an electric shock down your spine.

“Yes!” you cry out. Your chest heaves as you incoherently plead with the men to believe you. You pull against the ropes and all the shuffling causes your bra straps both fall to the wayside.

Such small, unimportant things garner their attention. Hanzo shifts forward in his seat, runs his gloved fingers across his mouth. Genji uses the tip of the blade to lift the cup of your bra and peep at your breast. Seeing a hard, pebbled nipple he hums in approval. He glides the flat side of the blade ever so slightly across your nipple over and over until the tears start to roll down your cheeks.

“He owes us a lot of money,” he says. “A lot, a lot of money. Money, we are sure you don’t have… right?”

You nod with emphasis.

“Mmhmm,” Hanzo mocks. 

He slips the blade, sharp side up, under the midsection of your bra and saws away until the fabric tears. The cups fall uselessly down by your arms exposing your bare tits to the chilly air and the hungry-eyed yakuza men.

You throw your head back and groan helplessly as Genji continues his pursuit to scare you into giving information that you don’t have. Feather-light and agonizingly slow he trails the blade down your midsection. His free hand snakes its way over the slope of your shoulder and down to your breast. He casually runs his fingertips over your nipple. Giving you unwanted, warm feelings deep down in your core.

“Nothing has come to mind, hm?” Genji asks. “No texts you have suddenly remembered, or things he said that conveniently popped up in your memory?” 

“No!”

When the blade slides into your underwear you wished he was still pressing it against your belly. The steel is ice cold against your hot folds; your thighs quiver. You whine out, much lewder than you had any intention of it being. You try to back your ass further into the chair but you’ve got no room for maneuvering. Genji worms around the dangerous blade—a blade you’re sure has taken some lives in it’s lifetime—around in your underwear until the fabric is just as ruined as your bra.

He sighs, defeated. Walks back around to your front and sheaths the blade at his back. He shrugs. “I don’t gather she’s hiding anything, brother.”

Hanzo nods. Gets up from his seat and approaches you with dark eyes taking in every inch of your state. He reaches out silently and grabs a hold of your jaw. Turns your head from side to side, assessing. He seems pleased with you; truthfully he’s horribly hard to read. Then his attention is taken down and down and down. He trails his fingers over your clavicles, gropes your breasts. Each individually, with the same hand, before tugging on one of your nipples and leaving them to shove his hand between your legs.

When he pulls his hand away he spreads his fingers trailing a shameful amount of slick between them. He raises an eyebrow at the display. “Is this a fantasy of yours?” he asks with a cruel smirk. 

He grins wide like a mischievous fox. “Oh, please can we keep her?” he asks with a fake, overly sarcastic kid-like tone. Asking as if you’re some stray dog they picked up off the street. “Promise I’ll walk her every day,” he says with a wink. 

Hanzo hums. “Yes, she stays,” he says. He lifts your chin with a single finger, still strong enough to force you to look at him. Your stomach sinks to your feet as he says, ”You’re our collateral now.”


	4. Hanzo x Fem!Reader (Dacryphilia (Crying))

You checked your phone as soon as you stepped out of the shower. Dripping wet and standing naked amongst all the steam. Nothing. Feeling like a child you pouted and threw that no-good-phone back on the counter. Hanzo, alongside others including his brother, were due back from a mission. You’d been waiting as patiently as a worried girlfriend could for the text message informing you he was back. It was a message eagerly expected to arrive several hours ago and never did. You swallowed down the urge to send one yourself–just a simple: “Hope you’re okay.” But you know better, he hasn’t sent word for a reason. 

So you continued to wait.

Your patience is rewarded as soon as you step out of your bathroom. “Oh!—” You jump back, placing a hand to your chest. Startled heart thumping rapidly under your palm. Speaking of the Devil. Hanzo’s sitting on your couch, brooding in the dark. True to form like the stoic man he is. “Hanzo, honey, you scared the hell out of me.”

A slew of questions come to mind: when did he get back? Why didn’t he let you know? But more important questions surface: what’s wrong? What happened? Was he hurt? Is he alright?

The obvious answer is: no. So you don’t bother asking; no need to be Captin Obvious. The deep frown on his face is too prominent, even for him. A sloppy slouched posture; unusual for a man who’s normally rigid as a thick metal pole. The culprit for his abnormal behavior: a bottle of liquor white knuckle clenched in his fist. A small porthole window in your dorm allows for enough moonlight to see that the bottle is nearly empty. Gut instinct tells you that he didn’t have any help getting it to that point.

At first, it surely must be the darkness playing tricks on you. Freezing up, you become week in the knees. Hanzo— _Hanzo_ — _your_ Hanzo looks to be on the verge of tears. Glassy eyes, a pouty lip. Your head spins. Both your heart and stomach sink to your feet. The mission… oh no. 

“Did someone die?” you ask. 

He shakes his head and waves a limp hand around. “No, no…”

Oh, thank God. You expel a breath of relief and pull your robe tighter around your body. You eye the bottle of liquor. Even if the damage is already done, you decide it’d make you feel better if you took it.

“Can I have that?” you ask as you point to the bottle. Hanzo gives it up easily, far easier than you were prepared for. The bottle slips from between his fingers. You’re no master assassin but you still stumbled fast enough to catch it out of the air before it crashed with the ground.

Hanzo emits a feeble chuckle. “Impressive.”

“Hush.” You narrow your eyes at him and turn around to place the bottle safely on your desk, well out of his reach. 

With Hanzo at your back his heavy, labored breathing become the sole focus of your senses. What does he need? A glass of water and some aspirin come to mind. It’s too late for coffee, perhaps some tea. He’s better off passing out—

“I don’t belong in Overwatch,” Hanzo says. “I don’t,,, I d.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t deserve to be counted amongst these honorable men and women–I, I’m a _stain_ on this organization.”

You spin around. Can’t believe what you’re hearing. Mouth dropped open, hands placed on your hips like a disapproving mother. “Well, I disagree,” you say with conviction. “You’re not the only one here with a dark past.” 

Hanzo’s hand is outstretched to you silently begging you to come to him. All of his stubborn pride and confidence in himself just… gone; you never thought you’d see the day. It’d be a cold day in Hell; when pigs fly! so to speak. The first few of many many tears to come, roll down his cheeks. You feel as if you’re witnessing a very rare sight. Like watching an eclipse that only happens every decade or so. You step forward and as soon as your within reach he snatches up your wrist and pulls you into his lap. 

“Oof!” You get comfortable by straddling his hips before you don’t have a chance to readjust anymore. “Feel like telling me why you feel that way?”

Hanzo grunts; you take that as a: no. Alcohol may chase away his pride but it doesn’t seem to incline him to become much of a blabber. He buries his face into the neckline of your fluffy robe, wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tightly against him. His shoulders start to shake and by the time you’ve got your chin resting on top of his head he’s—sobbing, sniffling. Even if the depths of his sorrow are a mystery, you have some ideas, and it’s enough for you that he’s comfortable enough to wind up on your couch feeling so vulnerable.

Every time he squeezes you a little bit tighter sweet butterflies flutter in your belly. You rub his shaking back muscles. Relish in the warmth and the tingles that blanket over your skin. You’ll sit and comfort him for as long as he needs, ’til your robe’s soaked through with tears, or he just tires himself into sleep. He’s had a hard life and a culture that preaches that tears equal weakness. This must feel good, even if it doesn’t sound like it.

Deep, breath-stealing sobs and body shaking shoulders eventually fade into quiet sniffles and healthy breaths of air. Hanzo rubs his face against your robe so carelessly his wet cheeks eventually find their way to your bare chest. The first time he rubbed his face between your breasts, it was an accident. The second time possibly was as well. But the third time?

Hanzo plants wet, open-mouthed kisses on your chest. Reaching between your bodies and you undo the sash around your waist. If he wants to take physical comfort he can have it. Your body reacted in many different–interesting ways to holding and comforting your crying boyfriend. When you sit on his hard cock it’s easy entry. You slide all the way down ‘til you’re flush with his lap, and Hanzo moans while you do it. You kiss him when he wants to be kissed and ride him unconcerned with your own pleasure or climax. All that mattered was making him cum and, in turn, him feeling better. 

But when he grabs ahold of your hips and bucks up into you it seems your going to be cumming anyway. You cling to his powerful shoulders and ride out your orgasm through clenched teeth and immense effort to stay quiet. When you cum, he cums. Face buried back between your breasts until he slouches back against your couch with a tired, dreary-eyed look. 

“It’s time for bed,” you whisper, not giving him any choice in the matter. 


	5. Daddycree x Daughter!Reader (INCEST)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shotgunning, INCEST.

The rich tobacco smoke is all too much. It burns and seizes up your virgin lungs. You lurch forward holding a fist to your mouth, coughing away all the discomfort. McCree rubs your back to soothe you and your embarrassment. Cheeks flushed. Hacking up your lungs, and tearing up so much that you look to be crying, was not the plan. The plan was to make yourself appear to be a proper adult by puffing on your daddy’s favorite cigar, just like you grew up watching him do. A lame attempt at showing without blatantly saying, “Look at me, Daddy! I’m a big girl now. See! See!” 

You even went out of your way to buy a new box yourself with no intention of keeping them. They’d end up in McCree’s pocket, you don’t plan on picking up the habit; you’re just in desperate need of a certain… kind of intimate attention from your father. Well, maybe you planned on keeping one of the cigars. A small item you can tuck away under your pillow, and smell whenever you’re feeling like breathing in something that reminds you of the love of your life.

McCree pats your back. “Told you it would be a bit much, Hun.”

He did.

“Here.” He shifts on the couch. Abruptly he’s hovering over you, bracketing your head with one arm and holding the lit cigar to his lips. He inhales deep and his chest swells. “Inhale when I blow,” he says through clenched teeth, billows of smoke escaping from between them.

There’s not much time to question what’s happening. He leans in, turns his head to the side as if he’s about to kiss you. It feels for a moment like a dream. Heart racing, your core warms up alarmingly fast. Panic strikes through your chest, you were a tick from pushing him away. But then he exhales the smoke and you inhale as instructed. Take the second-hand smoke into your lungs with much more ease, and none of the burn. You turn your head to the side and blow the smoke back out, blinking back tears for an entirely different reason.

“Felt much smoother that time, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you say with far too much dreamy adoration in your voice.

McCree grins, happy to hear it, but shakes his head. “Shouldn’t be encouraging you to smoke.”

You shrug. “I was gonna do it anyway.” Licking and bite your lip in one seamless motion you lean forward an inch. “Can we do that a couple more times?”

McCree took brazen notice of your newly wet lips, the flutter of your eyelashes, and the motion of your hips as you squirmed. He leans away from your lean in and puffs lightly on his cigar while he looks down at you in contemplation. You can only imagine what he’s thinking—perhaps that he shouldn’t be enabling the taboo crush that you clearly have.

You brave giving him some wide puppy dog eyes, and a fat pouty lip. “ _Please?_ ”

He pushes himself away. Sits back down on the couch. You take that has a no and resign to being grateful that his mouth was ever that close to your mouth in the first place.

McCree pats his thigh. “Come’er, we’ll finish this cigar together.” He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You hop up off the couch and clamber into his lap. As your doing so he says, “This is a lot easier on your old man’s back.”

Yeah, sure. Sounds a like to you like a convenient excuse for him to have you in a position he wanted you in any way. And the implications of that makes your heart race and tummy flutter. Maybe, if you’re charming enough, you can weasel a kiss out of this by the time the cigar’s burnt out.


	6. Vampire!Hanzo x Adopted!Reader (Puesdo-Incest)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampire!Hanzo, Puesdo-Incest. I decided to give writing an adopted!reader a try. So– here, you’re the adopted daughter of Hanzo, leader of the Shimada clan. Hanzo suspiciously disappears after coming back from a bloody mission in America. Not willing to sit around, you take it upon yourself to find him.

Papa taught you to question everything, and let no one tell you what it is you can and can not do. You’re a Shimada now. And as a Shimada, you are to command and demand respect. As a Shimada people will lie to you, will try to manipulate you, try to hurt you; you mustn’t let them pull the wool over your eyes. From the very day he picked you up off the streets: a dingy little kid, with a sharp glint in her eye, as he said. You become his legal first-born to the upset of almost the entire clan.

_“She doesn’t have the blood.”_

_“The dragons won’t heed her.”_

_“A girl!”_ they sneered.

As an uneducated child enamored with walls and fabrics and foods that were leagues better than anything you’d ever seen, touched, or smelled in your life, you didn’t understand that adopting you was wildly out of character for the man that everyone else addressed as “Sir”, “Boss”, “Mr. Shimada”, or “Hanzo.”

He hammered into your head that you belonged there and that anyone that tells you otherwise can answer to him, or your own wrath should you feel you have enough of it to unleash–

–so you blame _him_ for this.

No longer a little girl, but a young woman, you sit with your chin held high and a scowl harsh enough to rival your father’s. “What do you mean I _still_ can’t see him?”

“We are only following his orders, Miss.”

“My father ordered you not to tell his family where he’s being held?” you demand. “Or why he’s being held in the first place?”

An exasperated elder muscles down a disrespectful sigh and leans across the table. “Yes, Miss.” 

Heat rises on your chest, your jaw grinds. “So you have nothing to tell me about my father’s whereabouts?”

The elder blinks slowly. “No… Miss.”

You sigh. “Thank you—“ you look to each and every one of the men lying to your face— “for your cooperation, this meeting is dismissed.”

You glare at them as they leave. Liars. What schemes are they plotting? This wouldn’t be the first time the elders tried to turn the tide of power in their favor. You look to your uncle, Genji, who’d been sitting in silence, happily letting you run the show. Years ago the elders had wanted him disposed of, wanted your father to carry it out. He very nearly did and, at the very last moment, chose not to. The decision narrowly started a war within the walls of the Shimada castle. But Hanzo, in the end, came out on top.

Genji places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Don’t fret,” he says as he stands, “I’ll snoop, I’ll find his location.” As he leaves he looks back over his shoulder with a wily smile. “One hour, and I’ll have it. Are you betting for or against?”

You scoff, you know better than to take that bait. “For.”

He clutches his heart. “Now I have to do it in an hour.”

Genji disappears and you ponder over the events that led up to Hanzo’s disappearance.

A month ago now Hanzo, a group of soldiers, and two of the elders made a trip to America to acquire assets and build bridges in person. Something went wrong. Three of the soldiers didn’t come back alive, and the elders had called a fervent, hushed meeting that you were not welcome to attend.

You feel physically ill when it becomes apparent to you that maybe Hanzo too didn’t come back alive. What if the elders are biding their time? Putting you off long enough to put together a plan to push you and your uncle out? Paranoid, you look behind your shoulder thinking that the assassins may be closing in at this very moment. But it’s just your heightened nerves. No ones there. No one ever will be.

Uncle Genji manages to make it back with two minutes left in the hour, with a shit-eating grin, and a pick-pocketed holopad belonging to one of the elders that went to America. He hands it over to you. You make short work of hacking into it. In even shorter time you find exactly what you’re looking for: an address of a house located a couple of hours away from any bustling neighborhoods. You know of it; Hanzo used to take you there when you were little. You used to play in the fields that surround it and earned more than a few bruised, scraped up knees. 

You and Genji briefly argue over who should go; the both of you can’t disappear at the same time. They’d find you out immediately. Genji caves and agrees to cover for you. He’s technically in charge in Hanzo’s absence, even if you like to act like your the one in charge. You may be a future leader of a lucrative empire, but you’re still wild and young. If Genji sells the story well enough, and he will, the elders will believe that you left to go rebel. Partying and drinking out of spite for their refusal to work with you. They already believe you to be a spoiled brat anyway. Might as well use that belief against them.

A couple of long hours, and a few sneaky sleep darts later, the posted guards are snoring and you’re pressing your thumb to the keypad of a heavy metal sliding door. It opens up into the basement of the home. You’re reminded of your youthful ignorance, all the times you wondered why a basement was in need of such a heavy duty door. Realizing, when you were older, that this house was used to either play host to loud, painful interrogations, and/or hold illegal product on its way to its home destination.

As you step down into the basement someone is quietly crying. Sounds like a man, but not like your father. You spot the sobbing man. Huddled in a corner, cupping his hands over his crotch. Blood’s dried on his face, it stains his torn shirt. He’s pale, sick, and dying. He sees you and his eyes blow wide.

“Help me!” the stranger begs and reaches out to you with one hand.

You sneer at him and step back, repulsed. “Don’t touch me.” With him begging you for his freedom you notice that he has… an erection. A strained bulge in his pants. The thing he was cupping. He breaks out into a gross sob and begs even louder for you to release him. “Have some dignity,” you say. “You’re here for a reason, I’m not here to save you.” 

The man gives up. His hand drops like a brick to the floor as he passes out. 

“Why are you here?!” a familiar voice demands from behind you.

You gasp and spin around. “Papa?!” Your voice goes from cold and calloused to that of a warm and excited daddy’s girl in an instant. 

Hanzo steps out from the shadows of the room. “I explicitly demanded you were to be kept from this place!”

Your breath catches in your chest; there’s something—wrong—with him. A strange, alluring aura. Paler skin than normal. And menacing, bright, ruby red eyes.

“Those were your orders?” More of a realization, than an actual question, but he answers anyway–

“ _Yes_ ,” he snaps. “Who else?”

“I, I.” You can’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. A funny feeling creeps over your skin, it fogs up your brain. There’s something about his eyes. You can’t stop looking into them; you’re trapped. Hanzo’s always has been a beautiful man, that’s nothing new. What is new? You can’t stop thinking about it. He’s so handsome, stunning. It’s affecting you in ways that it never really did before. “…The elders—-I, I thought they were lying…committing treason…” was all you could manage to explain.

His face softens. Shining, livid eyes dulling out into a disappointed look that isn’t aimed at you. “I should have known you’d come to that conclusion.” He takes in a deep breath through his nose, shudders, pupils widen almost entirely removing all the color from his eyes. “You need to leave— _now_ ,” is what Hanzo says, but what it sounded like to you was: “ _Stay, come to me_.”

You carefully approach him, tilt a curious head to the side. “What happened to you?” you ask.

He stiffens as you approach. “I was given an unexpected gift,” he says. 

You’re full of unexplainable impulses. Shiny new urges. Strong ones. You badly want to touch him; so you do. He’s cold, not at all hot with the furnace-like heat he usually gives off. You flutter your fingers up his left arm, entranced by a tattoo you’ve seen thousands of time. 

His jaw grinds as he continues to explain. “The empire may never need a new leader again.” Hanzo chuckles fondly, a look of love in his eyes that he only ever has for you. “Unless that is if you feel inclined to overthrow me.”

You shake your head. “Never.”

“Never is a long, long time,” Hanzo says. 

He cups your cheek and suddenly you feel as if you’re floating on air. Naturally, you lift your chin. Offer up your pretty neck. Veins pulse with the racing of your hummingbird heartbeat. Prey falling so easily into a predators trap. Hanzo didn’t mean for you to walk into it. He did everything he could to keep you away. But he couldn’t change the way he raised you. If only he–were–being held against his will; he’d be so proud, a small portion of him still is.

The next time his lips part, his fangs have come out. Sharp, and speaking more words than he is.

“Vampire,” you say incredulously. “Papa, who’d you let do this to you?”

“I assure you,” he says, “I did not—let—anyone do this to me.”

Hanzo runs his thumb over the thickest vein in your neck. It pulses under his touch, begging for his bite. You and your blood smell more appetizing than any of the poor, unfortunate souls that were brought down here to be his dinner. Begging men, and frightened women who’d never be able to pay their debts, who betrayed him in one way or the other, or targets who needed to be taken care of anyway.

He planned to remain in self-seclusion until he felt confident in his ability to control his newfound urges and hunger. So that you can the rest of his family would be safe from him. But you’re here now, and he’s not in any sort of right mind to throw you out on your ass. He doesn’t want to tear your throat apart like he feared he might. He simply wants to… have a taste; a small, small taste.

Even as he’s leaning forward he’s still lying to himself. You don’t flinch away from him. In fact, you lift your chin even higher. He holds your head and wraps an arm around your waist. Brings you in close and holds you too tight; as if you might try to get away and he will not be allowing that to happen.

He sinks his fangs into your neck. You cling to his clothes and moan out loudly like a filmed whore. It’s painful. But it also feels so, so good. Addicting, and you’d be happy—you’d be blissful—if he continued to take from you until your body was void of any warmth at all. His venom enters instantly through your neck and just as instantly runs to your clit. Your pussy clenches over and over, suddenly in dire need of penetration. Your blood thrums with lust, debilitating want that makes your knees buckle.

You’d long since forgot about the stranger with the blood-stained shirt, the teary eyes, and the raging boner. In the morning when you wake up after all of this you’ll understand why he was in such a tormented state.

Hanzo never would have dreamed of leaving his favorite person in such a state, not that his current urges and lack of self-control would have let him. He licks your neck as clean as he can, wipes the excess blood on his lips away on the back of his hand. In the blink of an eye, you’re thrown down onto the bed. You throw your legs open, ready and oh-so-willing to accept him. If Hanzo wasn’t already so keen on taking care of you, you would have dropped to your knees and begged him to fuck you.

He smells your desire, soaking through your panties. Hanzo makes swift, eye blurring work of both your’s and his clothes. He lays down between your legs. And it feels relieving to be butt naked and pressed skin to skin to the man you still think of as, Papa. 

Everything he does is just a little too rough. But you crave the slights pains. He kisses you going from taking your blood to stealing your breath. You taste your own copper. You don’t mind it. You chase after it by shoving your tongue into his mouth. 

He rolls his hips, sliding his hard cock between your soaking wet folds. You whine into his mouth. A wordless plea for him to get inside of you. Finally, he rolls his hips at just the right angle and enters you fully in one smooth thrust. It burns, it fills, it feels fantastic. 

He pulls away from your mouth with a pleasured hiss. He brackets your head with his arms, arm straight and elbows locked. His eyes have gone completely dark with hunger and lust that’s not close to being sated. For some time he’s hard focused on thrusting into you with enough ferocity to make you sound like a filthy slut but keep from breaking your fragile body. You cum several times. Each time is a blur. Intense. White spots litter your vision. You cling to his forearms and just try to remember how to breathe. 

Suddenly he’s at your neck again, sinking his fangs into a fresh spot. He bucks into you and drinks your blood until his rhythm becomes erratic. He stills inside of you spilling his seed. Even while you’re swimming in the twilight zone you still manage to wonder, as the creature he is now, could he still get you pregnant? 

The thought is fleeting as Hanzo says something that sounded endearing into your ear. Exhaustion weighs down your body, too tired to comprehend words. The only thing you want now is to slip blissfully into the deepest sleep you’ve ever had in your life. You know that you’re in good hands. All your thoughts, questions, and things you have to say will still be there when you wake. 


	7. Daddycree x Daughter!Reader (INCEST)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> INCEST, aphrodisiacs, dubcon.

McCree’s convinced nothing can instill cold, hard fear in a man quite like seeing his baby screech in fear, and take what looks to be acid to the face. Not even the coldest vampire, or the meanest werewolf. No bog creature or screaming banshie could make him feel like that. McCree tackled you before the villainous flower was done spitting its assault. Took a good bit of the clear liquid to his own face. Better on him than on you.

He should have known better. Spriggans’ lairs tend to have all sorts of booby traps and self-defense weaved together by Mother Nature and magic. With the nasty creatures vanquished by his hand, he and you let your guards down. Now he’s desperately begging you to look at him. Tearing your arms away from your face, scrutinizing every part of that precious face. Searching for chemical burns, and blisters. He finds nothing but flushed cheeks and glassy, wide eyes.

“Talk to me, Baby,” he begs. “Does it burn? Itch? Are ya seeing things?”

You shake your head at each one of his questions. You look him over, dazed and confused. Breath shuddering out as your hands find their way to his hips.

“I feel funny.”

“Funny how?”

“My heart—it’s racing.” 

You grip his hips tighter and bring them down to meet your own. Your pupils dilate as you lift your head and try out of nowhere to steal a kiss. He recoils away just before your open mouth can make contact. The look on your face says you don’t seem to be quite in control of your body’s actions. No shame, nothing that screams that you felt what you tried to do was wrong. 

“I feel so hot,” you say.

As you start pulling and tugging, downright tearing at your own clothes, McCree starts to feel it too. And as he starts to feel it, he begins to understand. His own heart begins to beat fast, his body warming up alarmingly fast. His cock swells and presses against the zipper of his pants. Head swirling with the tumultuous need to mate and breed whatever warm body is closest.

“Oh, Goddamnit,” he growls.

McCree knows exactly what this is: fatal breeding pollen. Spriggans being the diabolical creatures they are, he’s sure that your hearts will just keep on racing, keep on picking up speed until they fail. That is unless the demand to mate is answered. McCree’s got no choice, and neither do you. While he’s inside his own head debating the morality of what he’ll need to do to you, his own hands start to wonder. He touches all over your body and helps hold you to his chest where you plant wet, needy kisses. 

“Shit,” he hisses, just pressing his bulge to your crotch feels like heaven. You reach for McCree’s belt and fumble around with the buckle. If you’re having any internal struggles, you’re not showing a lick of them. You did receive a much bigger dose of the pollen than he did. 

“Alright, alright,” McCree says. He grabs a hold of your face and kisses you proper. Right on the lips. Deep. Swapping plenty of spit. “Baby?” He shakes your face. He wants you to hear him. “I love you. We gotta do what we gotta do–” you mash your mouth against his, hurting his teeth, and cutting him off– “we’re gonna get this done and over with fast, okay?”

This is no laughing matter but McCree has to laugh anyway. You spare him a brief, half-hearted, “Okay,” before going right back to kissing him. Couldn’t care any less about being soothed or talked through this. He can’t help himself, he’s your daddy. But he can’t be mad about it. It’d break his heart if you were having even the slightest adverse reaction. It wouldn’t just break his heart, it’d kill him if he had to hold you down and make you take what needs to be done. 

McCree pries you away and flips you over onto your hands and knees. In this position, it’s more apparent than ever that the pollen’s completely taken over your basic instincts. Arching your back, you mewl as you do so. Making noises like a kitten in heat. He tugs your pants down to your knees. And he can’t believe the sight of your sex, you’re literally dripping. Strings of clear fluid falling down into your underwear. And damn if you don’t got a pretty little pussy. 

You make it hard for him to get a grip on his cock. Continuously backing your ass into his crotch. Every time he pushes you away, your pushing right back. Begging him to put a baby in you. He doesn’t have it within him to demand you settle down a moment because he wants inside you as badly as you want it, but he does find himself smacking your ass. Your shrill yelp and the sharp skin to skin contact echoes through the cave and gives him enough time to pull his cock out unhindered. 

He grabs a hold of your hip with one hand and lines up with your entrance with the other. You throw your wanton hips back and take him in with a long, drawn out moan. There’s no ease in. You won’t slow down enough to allow it. With you bouncing back on his cock, he sits back on his thighs and watches you fluidly take him in all the way to hilt over and over. McCree only takes charge when he starts to feel the swelling, tight feeling in his balls. Then he holds you flush with his crotch while he bucks up in you. Barreling head first and fast into catching his pleasure. 

You cry out and become a limp rag doll in his hands as you cum. You flutter so tightly around his cock that he cums too. For a brief moment, he thinks, “Pull out!” But the pollen working his strings like a puppet doesn’t allow him to. He slams into you over and over with wild animal-like grunts and growls, shooting his seed deep within your body. Only pulls out when he’s spilled every last drop.

You slump over onto the ground, exhausted. Ass still stuck up in the air. He’s exhausted too, his heart’s finally starting to slow down. His cum seeps out of you and he feels satisfied with it. 

“How’s your heart feeling, Hun?” 

“Better,” you say meekly. 

He redresses you, puts himself away and lays down next to you. You look so far gone that he’s thinking you may not remember this when you wake back up. He can’t decide which would be for the best: a vivid memory or a missing chunk of time. He’ll deal with whatever outcome when you wake. 


	8. Sojiro x Male!reader (INCEST)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> INCEST, identity porn.

Your mistress hands you a keycard. “Penthouse,” she says simply, and expects you to heel-toe, be on your way. 

Penthouse? You’ve never had a penthouse level client before. You stand frozen, feeling nervous for the first time in a long, long time. You’re no virgin whore, but the prospect of a servicing a client who is willing not only to pay for you but pay for the best room in the house, has your heart fluttering. 

She raises an impatient eyebrow. “This is not a client you keep waiting.”

You swiftly bow and head straight for the elevator before she threatens to find a different boy toy to send up to the penthouse client. 

As you approach the penthouse door you crack your neck, roll your shoulders, and get your shit together. You’re good at what you do, and by the time you’re done with the man behind this door he’s going to be a regular client. 

When you first set eyes on your client you’re–pleasantly surprised. He’s older. Certainly old enough to be your father. Salt and pepper hair. Sharply dressed. With even sharper features and a million dollar, hypnotizing stare. He’s relaxed in an armchair. Sips on whiskey and puffs on a cigar. 

You don’t pretend like you don’t recognize those high cheekbones and that clan logo on his cuffs. “What can I do for you, Sojiro–” you bow–“Sir?”

Sojiro raises his glass to you. Drinks in every inch of your body and your skin thrums at the wordless approval. 

“What you do best.” 

You can do that.

You remove your clothes slowly and gage his reaction to your pace; he seems pleased. Not wearing much in the first place it doesn’t take long for you to be butt naked and crawling on the floor, giving Sojiro a delectable view of what he’s purchased for the night. 

Sojiro spreads his legs for you and on your knees, you wedge yourself between them. Look up at him with a false innocence; fluttering eyelashes and a bitten bottom lip. All while you expertly undo his pants and pull out his stiff cock. He had a gorgeous cock. Well groomed, thick, and veiny. You slobber on his shaft and pump him in your fist. Shifting between long strokes and focused circles around the head. Sojiro relaxes more and more as you work his cock, thighs softening under your elbows. 

The man is in no mood to rush you, but you’re eager to take such a nice dick into your mouth anyway. You wrap your lips around the head and suck him in. He groans and cups your face. Your baby hairs stand on end. Your dick jumps, surges with blood, and leaks pre. It’s not every day that servicing a client gives you pleasure, or makes you want to jerk your own length. 

Sojiro strokes your cheek and you press the head of his cock to the inside of your mouth so he can feel himself there. He hums. 

“You have grown into such a beautiful boy.” 

Your brows furrow; the odd word usage is not lost on you. You don’t take Sojiro for a man who often misspeaks. But you roll with it. Pull off his cock with a lewd pop and a big gulp of breath as if you’d been drowning underwater. “Thank you, Sir.” You dive back in, taking him all the way down to the hilt. Nose his light tuft of pubs and inhale his manly musk. 

“I don’t want you servicing any more of these low-class degenerates.” 

Its surprising to hear him speak with such certainty about your day to day life. He’s not wrong, you don’t often get well-tailored, high-class clients like him. You pull off again, allowing strings of saliva to trail from your swelling lips to Sojiro’s cock. 

“Afraid that not up to me, Sir,” you say with a teasing lick of his shaft. “That’s up to my mistress.” 

“Every pimp has their price,” he says, sounding more like a veiled threat than a statement of fact. 

Men say all sorts of sweet things, and promise all kinds of salvation to you while you’ve got their cocks in your skilled embrace. Once they cum all their flattery and possessiveness leaves with their empty wallets. This one, however, you find out is different. Even after he’s grown tired of your mouth and you ride his lap until both he and you cum, he’ll be back. Again and again. And you’ll never end up full of another man that he doesn’t explicitly approve of first. 

Shady motivations aside, you’ll readily admit: you hit the jackpot. 


	9. Daddy!Gabe x Daughter!reader (INCEST)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> INCEST

He sits in the darkness of his room, phone light illuminating his hard war-worn face, stewing in the unforeseen consequences of his own actions. He thought he raised you better than this, and he didn’t think he’d drag this out as long as he has. He’s got plenty enough to scold you for. Flirty DMs with a man who’s over half your age: a persona concocted by Gabe himself. 

There’s no ‘Richard’. No single, clean-cut, silver-haired man over fifty, working in real estate and looking for love. Just him; just your very own dad. He went into this little experiment with the good intentions of a father who’s protective over his baby girl. Not a man who believes he’s overprotective, as you’d accuse him of being. He doesn’t worry too much, he worries perfectly enough, as he would say. 

Seeing as he’s now in possession of his own daughter’s nudes. 

When the man you know as ‘Richard’ asked for nude pictures, he was certain you wouldn’t be sending them to a complete stranger. You did. No pretense. He asked. You delivered. One photo of you clad in nice lacey lingerie that he wasn’t aware you owned. Bra cups tugged under your breasts, panties tugged to the side. The only thing missing is your face.

He’s never been afraid of facing issues, lessons, or life events head-on with you. This, however, gives him pause and a racing heart. He very well can’t walk into your room and lecture you on the dangers of sending nudes of yourself to men you’ve never even met when he’s got a hard on that no amount of heavy breathing is getting rid of.

He can’t decide which is worse to look at: his hard cock, big and heavy, poking out of the waistband of his pajama bottoms, or the erect nipples plumped up by colorful lace and the bare pussy glistening with slick.

Every time Gabe tries to convince himself it’s the faceless photo that’s giving him problems, his dick proves him wrong. It’s when he remembers that it’s you, his baby girl, his Sunshine, and motivation to work hard on a daily basis, that his cock jumps, his balls pulse with body jolting desire. 

_That’s my– **daughter**._

And now he’s leaking pre. He’s so hard and straining so much in an effort to keep himself from touching it that he’s hunched over. Elbows on his knees, breathing heavily through his nose as if he just got done sprinting a marathon. He can’t. Stop. _Looking–_ at the photo. 

Just put it away, lock the screen— _delete it_.

He closes his eyes and now your face is there. Gabe knows every plane, every shape of it by heart. It’s your pretty face and how he imagines it’d look if it were present in the photo: eyes half-lidded and begging your dad to fuck you. Mouth slightly parted. Lips, wet.

_Fuck it._

He shoves his pants down to his ankles, fists his cock and squeezes. Squeezes it tight, boarding on too tight; that’s how he likes it. He looks back at the phone. Gabe doesn’t have to wonder if you’re soft, he _knows_ you’re soft. The way the skin on your arm is smooth against his callused hands as he hugs you, or the warmth on your forehead against his lips as Gabe kisses you good night. It all can’t be much different from the way those plush thighs would feel straddling his hips. 

Gabriel moans as his cock throbs and spurts strings of pre. He strokes it fully from base to head. His mind keeps spinning, shuffling image after image. Your pussy stretching wide to accommodate his girth–your mouth doing the same thing. He bucks up wildly into his own fist, spits expletives, and begs you in a gruff whisper to give him more of whatever it is your doing in his mind’s eye. 

He’s had far more orgasms and jerked off more times than he’s ever cared to count or remember, but this ones creeping on him fast and feels more intense than any other time he can recall. Gabe throws himself back onto the bed and bucks up into his hand until he’s shuddering breath, and shooting thick, healthy ropes of cum all over his bare chest. He looks down at himself and presses his thumb into his fat, sensitive tip forcing out any remaining seed. 

As he’s laying there, chest twitching with after pangs he starts to feel the weight of guilt, the uncomfortable blanket of shame. He has to remind himself that he’s not a con artist. He wasn’t asking for spank material. This wasn’t his intention… it wasn’t. 

Suddenly his phone chimes with another message from you. Remaining on his back he takes a look at it. 

> _Do you like it?_ **😅**

He throws his head back, groaning as he runs his fingers through his hair. Now he’s kept you waiting for a response and you’re probably sulking in your room thinking you’re not good enough for this chump called Richard. 

He looks down at his stomach and looks back at the profile picture of the man he chose as the face of Richard. Gabe and he have fairly similar skin tones–

Feeling particularly reckless and in a dire need of giving you something back for the time he made you wait, Gabe angles the camera down at his cum painted chest and softening cock. He sends the photo off to you with the message: 

> _Loved it, Baby_


	10. Yandere!Demon!McCree x Reader (NONCON)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NONCON, Somno (sort of).

“ _Shhh_ ,” he whispers into your subconscious, hot air tickling your neck. “ _Don’t wake. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.”_

You’ve never seen him. You don’t know him, but he knows you. The demon that resides in your home knows you better than even you know yourself. He knows what makes you tick. What makes you roar with laughter and what brings tears to your eyes. The dirty fantasies that run on repeat in your lonely head, all the thoughts that soak your underwear. McCree’s voice is soothing honey on your heightened nerves. His presence is potent—the creeping feeling of imminent danger incarnate—and caused you to stir in your deep sleep. 

Your body relaxes into an unnaturally pliant state. The more the demon bores his glowing stare into you, the more your mind and your moldable dream state become his playground. Hovering his ghostly fingers over your body, he creeps them all the way from your head to your toes. Your vulnerable body reacts with bed shaking quivers. You sigh out wistfully as McCree flutters his fingers back up your leg and hovers them over your mound.

McCree curls his fingers into a fist as his words echo inside your dream state. “ _Clench for me_.” All of a sudden your hips lurch up off the bed as you sharply gasp. He chuckles. “ _Nice. Now do it again._ ” Moaning out you roll your hips up against nothing. “ _Good girl._ ” McCree doesn’t have a heart, but he swears he can feel something skip, something–flutter within his spiritual form gazing at the sweet smile that stretches across your face. 

McCree hovers over your face studying the nuances of how your brows furrow and your lips purse as he stays there. He can’t kiss you, not yet. Can’t make you taste his salt, or feel the vigor with which he cares for you. He isn’t strong enough. But he can puppet your dreams. You’re already on the right track, you just need a little nudge in the right direction. He moans into your ear, deep and reverberating. If you were awake to hear it you would have thought an angry hound was breathing down your neck.

In your dream, the sound conjures up a vague representation of himself. That dream man is welcomed into your bed with a wide spread of your legs. There sprawled out in your dream bed, you’re butt naked and the Sun shines brightly through a wide picture window that you don’t really have. Here you feel warm and safe and happy to have his mouth latching onto your sex. 

“ _Mmm,_ ” he croons, his voice filling the room. “ _You taste amazing, Darlin’._ ” 

You don’t flinch, don’t try to tear away from him when his particularly long, thick tongue prods at your entrance and slips inside. Writhing around in your insides, your clit surges with blood and the sensitive bundle of nerves inside your pussy swells and pulses just as much. He wraps a muscular arm around your thigh and thumbs your clit through its hood. Keeps working at your silky soft walls until pressure builds and releases in the form of a very-real life orgasm. 

You cry out and cling to your sheets. “ _McCree,_ ” he whispers to you. “ _McCree._ _Say it_.” You do. You whine it out, mewl it. His whole being tingles at hearing it. He has to hear you say it more. And he has all night to earn more of it. 


	11. Prefall!Gabe x Reader (Object Insert)

You throw your hips back in fervent need for the erect cock you know is just within your reach. Horny and worked-up and soaking wet, Gabriel leaves you wanting. Mewling and rolling your hips round and round. Desperate after a long day of teasing texts and even hotter manhandling. All you want and all you can think about is getting rammed into the bedsheets. Being held down and used up until you’re aching and filled with cum. 

Gabe stands by the edge of the bed watching you writhe around with blatant amusement. Cuffed to the headboard–and not by cheap sex shop cuffs, but by heavy, weighty military issued metal that clinks and jingles loudly every time you squirm; there’s only so much you can do to get him to give you what you want.

“Look at how wet you are.” Gabe takes a swig from his beer then drags the mouth through your sopping folds. You push back into the feeling of the cold glass, a short margin away from taking the thing into your body. “Really?” he teases. “Do you need to get fucked that badly?”

“Yes!” Arching your back, creating a deep, unnatural looking slope, you raise your ass as high in the air as you can possibly get it. “Fill me, Sir.”

He smacks your ass and you lower it back down, he keeps his harsh hand there gripping the fatty parts of your cheek and hips. Slips a thumb between your slit and spreads your lips enough to cause your pussy to gape. Cherry red insides clench, more slick dribbles out and thinly strings down between your legs. 

He teases the bottle across your wanton entrance. “Tell me what you are,” he demands.

“A dirty little slut, Sir.”

“Wrong.”

“ _Your_ —dirty little slut, Sir,” you say. “Sorry, Sir.”

He smirks, so smug and basking in every minute of your pathetic whimpering. “You’re forgiven,” he says, he knows it can be hard work for a slut to think when so much of her blood is pulsing in her cunt. “Here you go.” He carefully presses the neck of the beer bottle inside of your tight entrance, its swallowed up and gripped.

The sounds you make are disgustingly pleased. You moan as if you’re in pain, but Gabe knows better. “More, Sir!” you beg, backing your ass into the glass bottle, trying to milk the bottle for all the sensation it can give you. 

Gabriel takes it away, slams the bottle down on the nightstand just beside your head, both to punish you for being demanding and to search for something with a little more–heavy duty. While you’re sobbing into the sheets at the feeling of being empty again, Gabe curiously eyes his Maglite flashlight still attached to his utility belt he threw to the floor not too long ago. 

He bends down and snatches it up. “Say please, Slut.”

“ _Please_ —give me more, Sir.”

He grips the lite and circles the flat base against your throbbing clit. Your body jolting at the sudden direct contact. Gradually he pushes the Maglite inside until half of it disappears entirely. This is a much more satisfying sight. A thick, black cylinder stretching you wide but still not as wide as he would. He doesn’t need to fuck you with it because you bounce on it like it like you would his dick. He takes it away and gives it back several times, and each time you whined and kicked your feet like a bratty kid getting their toy taken away.

Your thighs quiver, a telltale sign that you’re close to cumming. “Oh, please, Sir,” you beg. “Please give me your cock, I want to cum on your cock.”

“I know you do, Slut.” He tuts out of disapproval. “I want you cum on this flashlight first—then I’ll consider fucking you.”

He feeds the Maglite back into your cunt, pumps it in and out as you push back on every single thrust. Being the needy slut you are, its no shock to Gabe when you start cumming in no time at all. Thighs shake, toes curl. You hold onto the bed frame for dear life. Choke out a “thank you, Sir” for each little quiver that wracks your body until you sigh with relief and start working the Maglite like a man’s shaft once again. 

He pulls the flashlight out and tosses it onto the bed and the desperate whining starts all over again. Taking a step back Gabe surveys his room taking note of various objects as he goes. 

“Hmm,” he ponders. “Let’s see what else you can cum on.”


	12. Owner!McCree x Hybrid!Puppy!Reader (SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is more fluff than anything smutty. Smut inspiration didn’t really hit me with this one. But it’s lots of SFW pet-play things. And if you’re not familiar with the hybrid AU: Hybrids are humans just with actual animal ears and tails. They also have a lot of behaviors that coincide with whatever animal they’re mixed with.

Sitting on the window ledge your fifth nap of the day is rudely interrupted by heart-racing anxiety. Surveying the empty street, your glassy eyes flitting wildly from side to side. Every time you look back at the clock in the living room time just seems to keep crawling on and on. The later it gets, the more you start to whine and worry for your Master. He was supposed to be home—five—whole minutes ago! You look at the lock again, now it’s—seven! 

Lamenting, you press your forehead to the glass and hug your beat-up Teddy bear to your chest. Fluffy, normally perpetually perky ears, drooped and pressed down flat against your head. Only prickling up for brief moments to get a better listen of the cruel, small sounds that seem to a desperate puppy’s ears like the sound of your Master’s hover truck arriving.

You whimper continuously. Working yourself up more and more. What if Master never comes back? What if something happened to him? Is he hurt? Is he lost? Are you alone forever? Is he abandoning you? Tears well, your tummy flip-flops, you–really–don’t want to go back to the Hybrid shelter.

Curling up on the window seat you rest your chin on your arms and resolve to try sleeping again. But every little noise jostles your nerves. Besides, you’d just end up dreaming about McCree anyway.

Your eyelids begin to droop. Your tail has a mind of its own and senses he’s home before you do. It wags happily from side to side, unbeknownst to a still dreary you. Slow at first, that is ‘til you hear the garage opening and see Jesse’s truck pulling into the driveway. Now it’s wagging so fast, it’s blurry as it goes. 

Launching yourself too quickly off the window seat you end up sliding across the hardwood floor and collide with the wall. Ouch! that hurt, but you couldn’t care less about it, you recover fast and go and take your place on the floor a few feet away from the door leading into the garage. Master trained you to sit pretty and patiently wait in that spot for your own good and safety.

_“Angel, hanging out two inches from the door’s gonna earn you stubbed toes and a broken nose one’a these days.”_

McCree knows you’re a good girl, the best girl, eager to please her Master but he still opens the door gradually. Too afraid of and not wanting to hear you yip out of pain. Aware that his late return home might break your natural will to be obedient. McCree pokes his head in, cowboy hat catching on the corners, sees you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be and swings the door open. His heart swells; you’re so precious, he’s never going to get over how God damn adorable you are.

“Hey there, Cutie.”

“Hi!” you exclaim, “Welcome home!”

Your butt pat-pats on your thighs every time you bounce up and down. Eagerly waiting for him to close the door so you can smother him with your love. The very moment the door swings closed you’re up and clinging to him, peppering his neck with wet kisses that are mostly made of tongue. Licking the slope of his neck, the high rise of his collarbones. Gripping the back of your neck he gives you scratches at the base of your hairline.

The more McCree scratches the more your foot pops, rising and rising ’til it’s dangling in the air and shaking with bliss. The sweet kisses and messy licks come to a halt cause you’re just too caught up in the good sensations.

“Mmm,” you groan, “I missed you so much.”

“Missed you too,” he says. “Sorry I was late, you must’ve been worried sick.” 

“Yeah,” you whine. So pitiful, a mere one syllable word threatens to tear his heart to shreds.

Jesse looks around the living room expecting to find something you ruined in order to release some of that stress during your waiting period, or perhaps a wet spot but finds nothing. The last time he wasn’t back when he promised he found a throw pillow had paid the price. 

“No accidents?” he asks. “Nothing we need to throw a funeral for?”

“Mmm, mmm!” you state. “I was a really good girl.”

“I can see that!” He kisses your forehead, cheeks, and lastly a long passionate kiss on your lips. “I’m so proud you; my precious angel.”

Seeing as you were so good its only right he rewards you with a treat. Not that he wouldn’t have ended up giving you one anyway. He just can’t resist those puppy dog eyes. You trot behind him. His second shadow following him to the kitchen. He can’t resist teasing you a little with the treat, holding the medium-sized oval between his fingers, watching your feet dance around, tail swishing from side to side at full speed. You open your mouth wide, pink tongue lolling out, he tosses it inside. The treat’s chomped up, gone within the blink of an eye.

Oh, and speaking of keeping you nice and spoiled. He reaches into his duffle bag. Grabs a royal purple paper wrapped, square box wrapped in a nice silk ribbon. You’re instantly curious about it, your little nose twitching as you sniff the air trying to gather sensory clues that might tell you what’s in it. 

McCree chuckles. “It’s not more food.” He plops down on the couch, sinks in, and spreads his legs with a groan. He pats his thigh. “Come’er, Baby.” The command wasn’t necessary, but natural. You were already on your way to straddling his thigh the moment his palm patted the jean. 

After a couple of sweet nuzzles and cheeky licks you’re completely fixated on the box in his hand. Eyes wide, ears at attention, tail swaying tentatively. 

Jesse nudges the box into your hand. “Here, open it.” Sitting back on his thigh you try your best not to tear the nice wrapping apart. Eager for you to see it so he gives you some encouragement: “Rip it apart, Honey!” 

With newfound permission to be careless, the wrapping paper is thrown to the side, the ribbon draped across his thigh. You gasp as you pop the box open, revealing a brand new collar. Custom made with your favorite colors, a pretty bow, and a shiny, heart-shaped silver tag with your name and his info, lest you ever get lost. 

“You like it?” 

You grin wide. “I love it! Thank you!” You scoot closer to him so that you’re pressing chest to chest. “Put it on me?” 

“’Course,” he says. “Be happy to.” 

He removes the collar you’ve had since he adopted you. Hybrid-center issued, plain, and fraying on the edges. He replaces it with your new one; tight but not too tight. The little bell jingles as you throw your head back presenting it to him.

“How’s it look?!” 

“Gorgeous,” he drawls as he pulls you back in, and hugs you tight enough to squeeze a groan and the air out of you. Your tail picks up speed as he plants kisses on your delighted face.


	13. Slasher!76 x Reader (NONCON)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NONCON

Face down; ass up. That’s how it always is when Slasher comes home. Just warm flesh, and a set of even warmer holes for him. He pounds into you with no compassion, no remorse, and with no ending in sight. His brazen attention doesn’t hurt like it used to. Doesn’t rip through your walls, doesn’t punch the air out of you every time he collides with your cervix—at least, you don’t think it hurts anymore. The moment the wooden door of the cabin busts open, and those dreaded dirty boots stomp across the old rotten wood, you check out, leave your body. Vacant as he hoists you onto the creaky metal framed bed. No telling when you’ll be back.

You stare at nothing, your body jolting with every thrust. Who knows how many times he’s spilled inside of you. The only evidence: the horrid amount of cum seeping down the insides of your thighs, staining the mothy smelling sheets. As he continues his ruthless use of you his seed becomes frothy, bubbly—disgusting.

It used to make you sick—all of this. Everything about him. The nights when he brings back a subtle scent, even worse the early morning not so subtle scents of copper he brings back home with him. The way he sometimes chooses to touch you, caress you in a deceivingly loving way before he brutalizes your body. Used to cry yourself queasy begging and wondering why he didn’t choose to butcher you the way he did your friends.

Slasher flips you over onto your back. Your limbs rag doll limp laying in whatever position they land in. Peculiar that he’d choose to change the position he prefers the most. His eyes glow brighter as he reenters you. A brightness that varies in intensity, mirroring the ferocity of his pace. You whimper; those eyes, those terrible eyes make it alarmingly hard to remain removed from your situation. Slasher never says a single word to you but his eyes compel you to feel his leather-clad grip bruising your hips, and his hard, weighty cock spurting hot cum inside you— _again_.

Supernatural stamina and murder fueled adrenaline keep him moving you up and down on his erection. You grimace—the sounds. The sounds are repulsive. So wet, so lewd. With every slap, every squelch you hear the sounds more than you usually would; feel how filled, how soaked you are. Sticky, and dirty. Feels so filthy you doubt if you’ll ever be clean again.

You gaze over to the side of him hoping to become removed once again. But just as your eyes start to glaze over with emptiness, Slasher stills and runs his hands down over your midsection. He gropes your breasts, seems to be mindful of how delicate they are, looms over you while your nipples respond. Hardening against his palms.

“Stop that,” you beg, voice so horse it sounds unrecognizable to your own earns. “Please stop.”

Why can’t he allow you this small reprieve, the right to be far away? Slasher shakes his head. Only twice. More communication than he usually bothers with. He moves his hands up, pressing down on your neck as he cups your face in his big hands and makes you look at him. Bores his glaring stare into you as he picks up right where he left off. Making sure you’re present and feel every bit of what he has left to give you.


	14. Demon!Hanzo x Reader (DUBCON)

“Tonight I will taste you,” the demon croons as he manifests out of darkness.

Shivers wrack your body as sharp nails trace your profile. Closing your eyes tighter you try, like all the other nights he appeared in your room, to make yourself believe and make him believe that you’re asleep. Such childish logic. If you hide under the covers and just pretend, the monster will go away. Try and convince yourself that you’re dreaming. Having a nightmare that feels all too real. This, you won’t be able to ignore. You could ignore the looming presence keeping the hairs on your neck standing on end, the gruff whispers of your name. The prickling sensations of being watched, of never being alone.

Ever since you brought home that gourde from an auction, things have never been the same in your quant apartment. The place wasn’t haunted when you signed the lease.

It is now.

A few days ago you stared at that gourde taking up space nicely in a display case filled with aged statues from different countries, a traditional Chinese fan, an old west revolver. Stared, knowing that it was the source, and yet couldn’t remove it. Was stopped from throwing it out or tossing it up on the internet by… forgetfulness… laziness?

You reached for it and suddenly it was hours later. Sitting on your couch staring at a TV show you didn’t choose. The gourde was exactly where it had been ever since it was unboxed. You felt far too drained of motivation to try getting rid of it again.

“Pretty,” he muses. “So incredibly soft… delicate.”

Both of his hands are on your face. One gripping your jaw, the other petting your head longingly. Still, your blanket inches its way down your body and off the bed. Exposing your thinly clothed body inch by inch.

You gulp down a hard lump. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Did I misspeak?” The demon is genuinely baffled by your fright. “I assure you this will be far from painful.”

He caresses your body, lifts up your night dress ’til its bunched up at your waist. Your eyes pop open as his hand snakes between your legs. Brackets your sex with his fingers pushing down and dragging them back up. Massages your outer labia, slightly digging his nails in as he goes. All too late you clamp your thighs together, thinking it might deter the demon. But the motion merely makes him chuckle.

“Open your legs,” he commands into your ear. Hot breath. Dry lips press to the shell of your ear. Sharp teeth nip you once. “Spread them for me.”

Gradually the fear coursing through your veins blends into fuzzy arousal. Like a spell is being woven over your body, lulling you into compliancy and a welcomed sense of safety. Moaning you roll over onto your back, opening your legs as you go. For the first time, you get an unhindered look at the demon. Not horrifying at all—perhaps a little bit. But in comparison to your other sightings. Most of them had led you to think he’d be monstrous. Brief glimpses of thick, black smoke huddled in corners illuminated by stark, glowing white eyes.

He has short, sharp horns. Even sharper canines. High cheekbones underlining those bright eyes you already know well. Dark grey, butter smooth skin. He’s— beautiful. The longer you gawk the more the spell weaves itself even tighter.

You gush with slick as the demon teases your slit. Hovering one teasingly light finger over your clit, circling it as he makes his way down and settles in-between your legs. Looks up at you with those glaring white eyes just breathing on your hot folds, watching you gasp and hyperventilate like he’s already putting in work.

He lightly drags his nails along your thighs ’til you’re well relaxed and his aura has completely taken over your common sense. Kisses around your pussy, just above your swollen clit. Dives in leading with his long tongue. It’s instantly so good your back arches off the bed. He traces your entrance and laps up the slick groaning like you’re the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The demon keeps unabashed eye contact. Even when you can’t stand to look in those bright eyes any longer, resolving to stare at the ceiling, he still watches you.

One finger is pushed inside of you, then another. They’re pushed in all the way to the second knuckle, shaped into a hook. The demon latches onto your clit and sucks hard. Strokes your special bundle of nerves. Sucks harder and harder until your throwing your head back into your pillows. Mouth agape in a silent scream. The orgasm careens through your whole body, seizing up every muscle. Your vision blurs with stars.

You have to breathlessly beg him to let up. The demon seems content to stay between your legs all night. Shockingly he listens but stays hovering over your clenching pussy staring at the aftershocks with smug satisfaction.

Staring at him the fear you used to feel towards him feels leagues away.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

“Hanzo,” he says with a grin. “Pleased to meet you.”


	15. Owner!McCree x Hybrid!Puppy!Reader (SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy take on

McCree’s dead asleep, snoring. Prosthetic arm thrown over his eyes, sprawled out on his back, sunk into the living room couch.

Lost in his dream world where the sands of the Chihuahuan desert are soft and addicting to touch. Feels wet, but there’s no moisture here. Odd. It’s not right. Nothing like the harsh, skin blistering grain that it truly is. He sits there for hours and hours. Strains the dust and sand through his fingers; no grit, no sharpness, no backbone to this earth. Residue stains his fingers. Glitters and shimmers as he dances them in front of his face. The dull sun never goes down, never burns; it’s freezing.

A gust of wind, void of temperature, blows his hat away. He watches it roll and tumble until the soft sand traps it. Comes to life reaching out and pulling the hat under. He looks down at his hand suddenly feeling dread. Jesse’s been playing with a slumbering monster. His heart races. Thumps too loud. The sand pulses out away from him with every beat of his heart. Creating a devastating wave. It swallows up small animals, slithering snakes and poisonous critters, fells Pinyon pines.

As the wave rolls back, barreling towards him as devastating velocity it throws noise at him. Gunfire. Whinnying horses—dying horses. Revving engines, old-fashioned tires kicking up rocks. Orders being barked by a familiar voice. Men and women yelling—screaming—in terror. Boots pounding against the ground. A revolver cocks just next to his ear.

The wave ascends on him and even though he’s terrified, even though he doesn’t want to be crushed by it, he can’t find the will to get up and try to outrun it. 

A nasty, phlegm-ridden voice whispers to him, _“You’ll never outrun it, Boy.“_

Something foreign to the land around him presses up into the flat of his jaw, soft, fuzzy, comforting. McCree can’t see it, but it doesn’t scare him. Warmth blankets his body, and his heart starts to slow. He feels a bone-deep sense of home. The wave collapses into a harmless plum of smoke. Harsh noise fades away into silence.

He wakes with a grunt, dream fading quickly from his memory. He plops a hand down on your head resting on top of his sternum. Scratches your flattened fluffy ears. Keep scratching until he soothes the little whimpers you’re emitting. Jesse pulls his arm off his face gradually, noisily complaining about the abundance of light that awaited him. Looks down to see you fully laying on top of him.

“Didn’t I just buy you a bed?” he teases hoarsely. 

“Yeah.”

“Something wrong with it?”

“You’re comfier.”

“Ah, ‘course I am.” McCree rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a silly grin. “Dumb question, that was.”

He nestles into the couch as you nestle into his body. Throws his arm back over his eyes and keeps his other resting on the small of your back. Your tail curls on top of it and he’s feeling relaxed enough to drift back to sleep.

“You were having a nightmare,” you mumble. “Was it awful?” 

“Was I?”Jesse’s brows furrow as he tries to recall it. Only vague images of arid desert come to mind. “Y’know, Sweetheart… I don’t remember.” He pats your butt, and that tail gets to wagging. “Ya must’ve chased away them demons for me. Sure do appreciate it.” 


	16. Genji x GN!Reader

The subway jolts and Genji takes full advantage of the turbulence. Grabs ahold of your hip and presses his crotch into your backside. Gets one really deep grind in before he’s pressing his luck and has to pull away and apologize.

“Sorry.” He’s not actually sorry. Never is. And he doesn’t bother trying to make it sound like he’s truly sorry. He knows he sounds like a slimy asshole and he doesn’t care. 

You accept it anyway. Despite the blatant sarcasm in his voice. “It’s okay,” you say meekly, shrugging your shoulder and keeping your eyes forward.

You haven’t looked back at him once. Body language clues tell him you’d like to move to a different spot, but the car is so crowded you’ve got no choice but to hold your backpack closer to your chest and keep your head down.

The car lurches again. He falls forward and that time his bulge perfectly wedges between your ass cheeks for a brief but blissful moment. Arousal pangs hit him hard. Contracting his stomach muscles, making him leak pre on the front of his dark colored jeans.

He looks around at the sea of bored faces. Some talking to the voices tucked away in their ears, some even chatting with each other; none of whom are paying him or you any mind.

He gropes his crotch, discreetly readjusting his erection. Sways forward and bumps it into you again. You shift, slightly look over your shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says again with a sly grin. 

That time you don’t bother to acknowledge his apology.

Inevitably the subway car rocks again. It’s you who falls back into his crotch this time. Stumbling hard, your whole body weighs against him. He’s in full slimeball mode and doesn’t help you recenter. Rather makes it harder for you to get your balance back. Holds onto your hip, lifts his hips into it. Cocky and confident you can feel his hard cock rubbing against your thinly clothed ass. Good for him, a lot of people these days prefer to wear thin pants and to make that even better, no underwear. Genji couldn’t be more for it.

“You can lean against me if you want,” he whispers into your ear.

To his immense shock, you actually do. You gather your balance back and then timidly arch your ass back into his crotch. Genji’s mouth drops open, he almost starts to drool. Looking around the car you seem nervous. Gulp down a visible lump in your throat. It seems he misread your body language. It wasn’t disgust squaring your shoulders and keeping your eyes locked forward. It was shyness, hesitation to reciprocate. 

“You are one of a kind,” he muses.

Genji catches a small, fleeting grin spreading across your face. He’s never come across a person who was happy to have him rubbing his dick against them on the subway. Rightfully so, he knows he’s being a sleaze. You start grinding your ass against him in small, generally unnoticeable circles. If someone stared hard enough they’d catch it. But between the last time he checked for lookers and now, no one’s started paying attention.

Genji closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and pushes into every grind. Cock pulsing and jumping with each rich rub. It’s rare when he actually gets off while “accidentally” bumping into some unsuspecting (sometimes aware and pissed off) subway rider. He’s—never—gotten off to a fully aware, reciprocating one.

His hard-on rubes perfectly between your cheeks. The pressure, the situation—the ass and the cutie who’s attached to it is just right and… “Fuck,” he hisses. Dick swelling, balls pulling in tight as he cums. The crotch of his jeans becomes soaked with each spurt of hot seed he pumps out.

The next stop is yours. You spare him a look back at his wet crotch and a full look of your face. He’ll commit it to memory. And if the fates allow it, do this again with you sometime. 


	17. Hanzo x GN!Medic!Reader (DUBCON)

Hanzo doesn’t get a chance to protest your position on the bed. Having already discussed the sleeping situation, and coming to the conclusion that the both of you could be mature enough to share, it was time to go to sleep. 

While Hanzo certainly considers himself to be mature, he can not deny that your closeness elicits an inappropriate heat in his core. The bed is small, _of course_ it is. So when you slip under the covers your rear grazes his crotch for a moment before you readjust and pull away. If Hanzo had had the chance he would have suggested he turn around first before you lied yourself down. To avoid exactly what just had happened.

Now Hanzo is on a downward spiral of uncouth thoughts. An unstoppable roller coaster that is headed straight for his dick. You quickly find your comfortable position still facing away from him. Completely unaware of what that brief touch had done to him. The moment your head hits the pillow you’re gone, having fallen fast asleep. It’s understandable for a medic like you to be so worn out. Healers never have a moment of peace on the battlefield. It is admirable, and Hanzo commends you for your soft but resilient nature. For how poised and expert you are at everything that you do.

Despite how much he respects you— he just can’t help himself. He is human and… weak in _some_ respects. The degrading thoughts and the obscene images reign supreme over anything else during such calm and close moments such as this one. So mind-numbingly close. For a long, long while all Hanzo can focus on is your body heat, the way it feels tangible, trapped underneath the sheets. Falling over his body like a second blanket. Then there’s your scent that is so distinctly you. Familiar as he’s been working alongside you for some time now. Your steady breathing and soft snoring. 

His thoughts are consumed with the small tantalizing bits of exposed skin. How good the nape of your neck would taste in his mouth. How easy it would be to roll you over onto the bed, flatten you down and make you his. Hanzo thinks maybe it would be beneficial for you.

These are the thoughts that he falls asleep to, and the thoughts that conjure up dreams of doing just that.

At first, he has you on your side, your leg lifted from his grip just underneath your knee. Hanzo is already balls deep inside of your slick, tight hole. Pounding into you, and coming inside of you hard. Like he has been fucking you roughly and for hours. It is deliciously messy when he pulls out of you, cum seeping down the insides of your thighs. Dripping onto the bed leaving several small stains.

Then he rolls you over, already ready to give you more. Presses your torso down onto the bed using two grips on both of your hips. Pistons you from behind, driving himself inside of you to the hilt over and over again. Looks down and watches as your tender flesh puckers and pulls with every thrust. You’re raw and used. Exactly as you should be, it is what you _deserve_. Your back arches and your hands claw at the sheets. Hanzo swears he hears you whine, “Hanzo— _harder_.”

So he gives you all that he’s got until he’s just on the brink of coming again. This is what Hanzo wants, to fuck you, until your full of him. Until your begging him for mercy, and for rest. Give you his cock so harshly, that your face glazes over from pleasure. Unable to think, unable to do anything but be fuckable putty under his weight. He wants to fuck you ‘til you’ve got sweat accumulated on your forehead and a gaping whore of a mouth. “Say my name,” he demands, _“Say it.”_ You don’t listen, refuse to abide him. So Hanzo goes to yank your head back by gripping the back of your neck and—

Suddenly he wakes up. With his actual hand on your neck, his hips flush with your ass. He’s _grinding_ against you. Hanzo’s erection very real and throbbing. And yet, you are still asleep. Softly snoring in the same exact position he had seen you in when his own eyes closed. You haven’t moved an inch. He lifts his hand away from your neck, slightly shaking from adrenaline. Slowly inches his hips away from your butt.

It would be easy for him to get up and take care of his erection in the bathroom. But the thought of you being right here is… exciting— a _challenge_. 

The waistband of his sweatpants is easily breached, are loose enough for him to stroke his cock without having to pull it out. He stares at your sleeping form. How you still remain utterly oblivious is salacious. Makes Hanzo’s hard dick even harder, his cock responding with jerks and twitches in his fist. He recalls the dream, especially your pliant disposition. How relaxed you were, how in control he was. Hanzo can swear he can still feel your spongy walls around him still. Squeezing, keeping him snug, and warm. He was right at home inside of you, right where he longs to be— _right now, right now._

Hanzo can’t have that, won’t take it. So he settles for placing his free hand back onto your neck. Curls his fingers gingerly around it, presses harder than he should, less than what is safe or smart. Perhaps a small portion of him is hoping that you will wake. Wake up and allow him to fulfill his fantasies. Hanzo grips his cock hard just below the tip. Gyrates his hips up into it, closes his eyes and imagines. As he comes he buries his face into the pillow. Lets go of your neck before he truly grips too hard, and takes the blanket into his fist in its place. Swallows his grunts back into his belly, as his cum spurts out over his hands. Accumulates a conspicuous wet spot on the front of his pants.

Now Hanzo will have to out of bed. He needs to change, and clean up. Doesn’t want any lingering evidence of his depravity for you to find in the morning. As he carefully slips out of bed, it creeks loudly, and the weight difference is finally enough to wake you. 

You look back at him, sleepy, but alert, “Are we being called to duty?”

“No,” He grumbles, “Just using the bathroom, go back to sleep.”

“Oh, okay then.” Your head rolls back over and your instantly back into your dream state. None the wiser.


	18. McCree x GN!Reader (Latex/Medical)

Full physicals aren’t an annual thing in Overwatch, but bi-annual ones are. Agents’ bodies are put through far too much stress, both physically and emotionally for just one to suffice. McCree can be mature when dealt the right situation and the right people, not to sell himself short, he’s being mature now. It’s just… Overwatch tends to have this habit of recruiting the nicest looking doctors, and you’re no exception.

You were assigned to look him over six months ago, and you’re the doctor checking him out now; seems you’re stuck with him. The snap of your white gloves sends shivers down his spine. He can’t get enough of watching you get ready to poke and prod at him, never been so happy to be asked to strip in such a clinical setting. Wishing he had something to complain about. Some kinda ache or pain that you could pay special attention to. 

Lost in watching your fingers flex as you adjust the gloves, the way the latex ripples, and the sounds that remind him of you when he’s watching specialized videos late at night, he ends up dropping trou a few beats too early.

“Ah—you don’t—you can leave your boxers on for the moment.”

He shrugs. “They’re already off.”

You laugh. “Have it your way, Agent.” You swing your stethoscope from off your neck. “Let’s check your lungs first.”

You rest one hand on the midsection of his back, breath on the cold, metal listening piece, on hold it to the middle of his chest.

“Big breaths, in through your nose,” you instruct.

McCree inhales deeply, the first one shaky. Too hard focused on the feeling of your gloved hand pressing between his rib cage. The second big breath is much better. You nod as you listen, pleased with what you’re hearing. Moving the stethoscope here and there on his chest. You move on to his back, placing a ginger hand on his pec. Pinky finger hovering tantalizingly close to his nipple. He sucks on his bottom lip, bites back a growl that would only make his predicament worse.

His predicament being the half chub he’s harboring under his hands and the massive—thing—that he has for you.

“Hm.” You pull the stethoscope out of your ears and place your hands on your hips. “Your lungs sound strong.”

“You sound disappointed, Doc.”

You sigh heavily, and McCree already knows what’s coming.

“I still strongly recommend you quit smoking.”

“Duly noted, Doc.”

You scoff as you bring up your holopad and tap some notes onto the shimmering screen. “Duly noted my ass, Cowboy.”

“I’ll try if that’s what’s gonna make you happy,” he says with extra drawl and a sickly sweet grin.

“That’s what they all say.” You wave off his empty promise and consult your chart again. Meanwhile, McCree’s wondering who ‘they all’ is, feeling a sharp, hot tinge of jealousy. Quickly remembering that your a professional doctor with many patients, and not doing this for the fun of it.

…Though you could be—

“Any sexual activity?”

“Nothing that involved anybody other than me.”

You smile, shaking your head incredulously—is that a blush he sees? “I’ll jot that down as a rare dry spell.” You point to his hands cupped over his crotch. “Well, better safe than sorry, let me have a look.”

McCree removes his hands and keeps the, “Take your time” that’s on the tip of his tongue to himself. Lets the partial hard-on speak for itself, just like last time and just like last time you choose to be the professional you are and ignore it. You drop down into a squat in front of him, and suddenly he’s finding the ceiling a very fascinating thing to look at. If he looks down at you hovering over his cock–practically on your knees–then that half hard-on’s going to be a full one.

Suddenly latex and pressure engulf his balls. He lurches forward and moans out a sound that can’t be skewed as anything but inappropriate. He blames that on you, last time you gave him fair warning. Light pressure tightens as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“How’s that feel?”

“Good.” 

He cringes at his own answer, a “fine” would have been more appropriate.

“No pain? No tenderness?” 

“Nope.” He shifts, fighting a mighty pulse of blood thrumming, waiting to fill his dick. “How’s everything looking to you?”

“Healthy, really— _good_.”

McCree’s ears are warming, a little flooded with his own heartbeat but he swears you sounded breathless, a little husky.

“Good, huh?”

He looks down at you just as your wrapping a hand around the base of his shaft; you defiantly hadn’t done that last time. And now there’s no fighting that rush of blood. He grows to full mass in your hand, thickening and lengthening out considerably.

Unsure if you’re actually doing what he desperately hopes you’re doing he says, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s okay.”

And now you are on your knees, shuffling forward, looking back at the office door. This isn’t a locked out practice; things run a little differently around here. Just about anybody could walk in at any moment. Including any one of the commanders. Or your boss, Mercy, and none of them would be sorry about it.

You stick out your tongue, and time slows a little as you angle his dick and drag the head down the middle. You look up at him with hopeful eyes and ask, “And how’d that feel?”

“Fantastic, Doc.”

You seem downright giddy over his receptiveness. As if you were the one who had something to worry about here. You keep up a steady pulse on his balls, circle his shaft in your fist and take his remaining length into your mouth. Eagerly sucking and bobbing and moaning. He leans back finding support against the examination table and grasps you on either side of your head. Gently rocks his hips up into your mouth, testing to see if you might be inclined to let him take the reigns.

Turns out you are. You let him move your head and buck into your mouth. Forgoing stroking his shaft and playing with his balls for a sturdy hold on each of his hairy thighs. With every thrust, you take him a little further in. Until you’re gagging, tears in your eyes, rolling down your cheeks, as you take him into your throat. You don’t fight the intrusion, just look up at him with lust filled eyes and swollen, strained lips. All traces of that professional demeanor lost and you’re looking a whole lot like them “doctors” in his late-night porn rendezvous.

He pulls all the way out just to get a gander at all the spit and drool that trails from your mouth and messes his cock. Shoves your head back down and really uses your mouth like the fleshlight he has tucked away under his socks and underwear. He cums with a string of gruffed curses, pulling back just enough so that his cum pools on your tongue and lips, instead of shooting straight down your throat. 

You seemed inclined to let him look at it, sitting back on your thighs ready to open your mouth and let him see. Then the door starts to slide open and you hop up onto your feet at a supernatural speed. He catches the hard swallow and watches you wipe away spit and seed with the back of your gloves. 

“Doctor?” Angela pauses, clearing her throat. “McCree.”

“Howdy,” McCree says. His hands are back over his crotch hiding his softening erection, and the cum leaking from his slit. He knows how he must look: guilty, red chested, breathing heavily. Now to see: is Angela in one of those too-busy-to give-a-fuck moods? Or one of those notices-every-little-God-damn-thing moods?

“Are you done here, Doctor?” she asks.

“Yes, Ma’am, I am.” 

“Good,” Mercy says. “I have a situation I need your immediate help with.” 

Ah, too busy to give a fuck. He’s relieved. Even if you’re two adults and can take part in eachother as much as you want, he was still ready to defend your honor should the good doctor, Mercy, find a reason to reprimand you. 

You spare him a brief heated glance before turning around, posied to follow Angela out of the room. 

McCree reaches out and grabs ahold of your arm. Leans in and whispers into your ear, "When can I return the favor?”

“I should be off in a couple of hours,” you say hastily, a drop of his cum catches his eye, glistening on your lip. 

He wipes it away with a fast swipe of his thumb. “My bunk or yours?”

“Yours.” 

He gives you a quick kiss. “I’ll be waiting.”


	19. Genji x GN!Reader (Cock Warming)

“Are you comfortable?” Genji asks.

He lazily pets your head like a darling puppy dog, grazes his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone. Presses gently into the pliable space between your teeth, feeling the hardness that encompasses the space. You nod in response, too far away and comfortable for anything verbal. Looking up at him with cute, sleepy eyes and a drooling mouth full of his cock.

With your head sunk into a fluffy white pillow laying on his lap, body wrapped in a blanket you breathe in his musk and melt gradually into tingly relaxation. Mind clearing while simultaneously fogging up with the heavy weight of sleep. You sink further down his length ’til your lips are pressed to his base. Glassy eyes framed by drooping lids. Gently suckling and humming on his length until your eyes flutter closed. Mouth relaxes. Slacks with the rest of your body. Becomes a still, silky, warm and wet space.

Genji too is comfortable, but not quite ready for sleep. He lazes back and fires up his holopad. Catches up on some reading while he keeps a loving hand on your face. Absentmindedly caressing your cheek, fiddling with your stretched lips, and thumbing the natural curve of your eyebrows.

Reading proves to be a difficult task. It never fails. He becomes lost in the story. You shift or moan, swallow in your sleep. Returning his just softening cock back to its hard state, and even harder than it was when you first took it into your mouth. Comfortable warmth becomes too much. An unignorable pressure building in his groin. The urge to fuck you creeps into his muscles. He holds onto the base of your head and subtly lifts his hips—just a small amount, barely sliding up and down in your mouth. Taking it as slow as his throbbing cock will allow. Slow enough for you to remain sound asleep.

The barely there strokes are heaven. Big relief after spending so much time staying still, and so completely hugged by your mouth. Cupped by your spongy, flexing tongue. Genji sighs blissfully and swipes the holopad away; forget the reading. He throws his head back into the pillows, groaning quietly, and savors the hip lurching pangs just being inside of your mouth gives him. Freezes the moment it seems you might wake to find him using your mouth for a little more than just its warmth. Any time your brows furrow, or your wiggle around in your curled up ball position, bringing in your blanket even closer to your chest.

Eventually, he finds just the right amount of satisfaction, not to cum, but to still his hips and allow his body to succumb to the throws of sleep like you had nearly an hour ago now. The bright lights on his suite dim the more his consciousness fades, his vents release a hiss of steam and he leaves his hand resting on your head and his cock keeping nice and warm between your lips.


	20. Alpha!Daddy!Gabe x Omega!Daughter!Reader (INCEST)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> INCEST, DUBCON, ABO.

Gabriel smells you, can’t think about anything but you. Sweet, musky, tempting. An omega deep in the throes of a heat. The TV is on, a show is running, but he’s not paying it any attention. A blank, empty stare at the screen. Simmering with urges. A need to bust open your door and claim what is his. He made you, he raised you, no other mate can take care of you, protect you, love you like he can. And no other alpha will ever get their hands on you. 

The bedroom door is unlocked, you’re free to walk around the apartment as you please. The front door, however, is a different story. Barred for your own good. 

You refuse to come out of your room, however. After he forced his scent upon you. Marked your neck with his bite. Took your sheets, your blankets, your pillows, and replaced them with his own well-used, well-scented ones. 

You _will_ come to him. It’s just a matter of time, of patience. In order for you to come to terms with what he’s been trying to convince you of for the past few weeks, he needs to sit and wait for your omega instincts to take over the beliefs that what he’s not the right mate for you.

It has been one long month. A month since he took your freedom away, and flushed your suppressants. A month since he told you how things were going to be, and the arguments, one after the other, that proceeded. All of which were, you, shouting, begging, vehemently spitting your disdain for him and his plans for you. 

Your door slowly creeps open, groans on its old-fashioned hinges. You shuffle out, stumble like you’re drunk.

“Dad?”

There’s a crack in your voice that nearly makes him feel sorry for you. Flares the parental instincts in him that want to mend whatever has your voice so broken. But this… cruelty is for your own good. Gabe ignores you. Sinks deeper into the couch, deeply interested in the TV. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that you are nearly naked. Wearing nothing but a t-shirt, held down by two shaky hands, stretched to cover your sex. Every deep intake of breath follows a full body shiver. Shutting your eyes lightly you breathe in through your nose. Your thighs shake, knees nearly buckle. A clear line of slick dribbles down the inside of your thigh, so thick it makes it all the way down your ankle and dribbles onto the floor.

His groin thrums with heat. He smells just as good to you, as you do to him.

“Daddy?”

He smirks. Sinks deeper into the couch. Spreads out his legs. Dad— _dy_? Just this morning you were calling him a monster. Telling him he was twisted and fucked up for forcibly keeping you under his wing. Trying to convince him he doesn’t love you right. And now look at you: desperate, needy, and trying to butter him up.

“Daddy?” you whine as you slip onto the couch next to him. You eye the massive bulge straining against his jeans, lick your lips. You place both your hands on either side of his face. “I need your help.”

He twists his face out of your feeble grip. Partially to make you work a little harder, grovel a little more, and because your hands reek of slick, richly coated in omega pheromones and if he breathed that in its intense potency any longer he would have broken down, flipped you over, and fucked you over the arm of the couch without making your properly prove that he was right all along. 

He looks down at your hands now clinging to his hips. How long had you been writhing in your bed, rubbing you needy cunt? How deep inside yourself had you buried your fingers? Searching, trying to find any sort of relief?

He spares you some eye contact. You straddle his leg looking hopeful. Plopping your pussy down on his thigh your mouth drops open, eyes glazing over with lustful haze. You mindlessly grind, shuddering with every sway of your hips. 

“Thought this was wrong, disgusting,” he says with a heavy air of nonchalance. “Those were your words, remember?”

You recoil back like a kicked puppy. Torn from your heated haze long enough to suddenly feel ashamed of your lewdness. Looking down in horror at what you’re doing. Pull your shirt back down over your crotch, keeping what Gabe’s already seen from his sights. 

“I know, I said that, I did but…” You look back at your room. For a moment Gabe thinks you might actually muster up the strength to get back up and go hole yourself away again. Then you swing your attention back to him, pulled in, and not going anywhere. “You smell so good.” You dive into his neck, licking, sniffing, and humping fervently against his thigh.

You beg, “ _please,_ I love you” right into his ear, cup your pussy. “It hurts, aches so much. I–I can’t stand it anymore.”

Gabe looks down at his thigh, arches a brow. It’s soaked. He didn’t need to see it, to know it, he can feel the wetness all the way through the thick jean.

“Honey, you’re making a mess.” He shakes his head. “Filthy girl, look at yourself.”

You start to bawl, looking down at yourself, teeth bared and wholly sorrowful. Wailing you say, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I can’t help it.”

He sighs as if you’re finally starting to whittle him down. “Tell me exactly what you need.”

“You know what I need,” you whine. “Please, Daddy—just—”

You reach for his crotch, but he stops you just shy of his straining bulge.

“Uh, uh.” He snatches up your wrist and tosses your hands way. “Use your words.”

You quiver, bottom lip trembling. You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat. But you have to admit it, to get it. You whisper, “I need–I need your cock.”

He grins. “What else?” he whispers back.

Whispering even quieter than before, “I need you to breed me.” You search his eyes, hoping that’s enough.

It’s not. 

“Tell me, Sweetheart,” he says, cupping your cheek, you lean into it and emmet a groan that sounds so close to a purr, it’s uncanny. “What do you need in order for me to breed you?”

You whine, sounding so much like a child throwing a tantrum. Face scrunched up like the words just might kill you.

“Your cum.”

“You need your dad’s cum?” He grips the back of your neck, feeling a sharp pang of primal need. “Are you begging for my knot?”

“ _Yes,_ ” you say desperately.

That’s enough for him. He can’t stand holding back anymore. He’s waited for so long for you to break down and admit you need him, that you _want_ him. He flips you over, you plummet onto your back with a yelp. The look of pure relief that is already etched across your face is sickly satisfying. 

Spreading your legs you wrap them around his waist. Dig your heels into his back, trying to pull him in. He sits back, watching you writhe, while he undoes his pants and pulls out his heavy cock. Slick gushes from your pussy. Seeps down between your cheeks and soaks into the couch. The thing will be ruined by the time he’s done pumping you full of him; over and over and over.

Gabe leans forward, takes both of your wrists and slams them down on either side of your head. Angles and presses his erection, not to your entrance, but just above it. Rolls his hips, sliding his thick girth up and down between your sloppy folds.

You throw your head back and keen. Breasts heaving, nipples hard. Showing well through your thin tee. He swoops down, bites each of them roughly. Keeps them latched between his teeth as he pulls away. You scream each time, hips lifting up off the couch, struggling against his brute strength. Your bottom lip wobbles as he steadily rubs his length along your engorged clit until he rears back enough to plunge his fat, leaking head into your sopping heat. 

You gasp sharply, eyes glaze over. Mouth dropping open in a permanent state of ecstasy. The beautiful face of an omega finally submitting fully to her one and only, her true alpha. Stretched wide open with a burn that hurts so good. You’re highly worked up and ready to be completely filled. He splits you open with one rough slam of his hips, making your eyes roll back, eyelashes fluttering wildly. 

He kept you pinned down and fucked you like a mindless animal. Thrusting and growling and grunting, and with every single punishing sheath Gabe punched a whorish moan from you. Heals digging more and more into his back the faster he pistons unendingly into your clenching velvet. Somehow he finds even more passion, a brand new unrelenting pace. Let’s go of your bruised wrists in favor of two fists full of your hair.

You wince as he tugs on your locks, and forces his lips onto your open mouth, kissing you and lapping at your hot tongue as he jackrabbits inside of you. Balls deep. Short and quick, loud paps. Your thighs throb from his brutal force. Cunt flutters with just how mind-numbingly amazing being bred so deeply feels.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses. 

Gabe stills. Shoots thick, hot ribbons one after the other. Knot swelling bigger, locking him inside you with every pulse of his cock. He wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you back up in the seated position this all started in. Rubs your back and fondles your ass as you melt into his lap and slump against his chest. Exhausted, for the moment. Until the flames of in your belly pick up again and his knot swells back down. Then you’ll be back at it again. 


	21. Dark!Hanzo x GN!Reader (NONCON)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NONCON.

“This is for the good of both you and me.”

Hanzo caresses your tear-stained cheeks. Runs his hand all the way down your body, as far as his reach allows. Real tenderness, empathy in his vivid brown eyes that you’d never seen before. It seems after all this time, he may actually be sorry about the abuse he’s about to unleash on your poor, weary body.

The fireplace blazes bright. Crackling, popping as it consumes the wood. Still, you’re shivering. Naked, hands secured above your head, legs anchored to the floor and spread. Littered with goosebumps. Crying and whimpering around the soft bit in your mouth. You fight the temptation to beg him not to do this. It’d be jumbled nonsense, and you well know by now that begging does you no good, and may just remove the precious and rare softness from his mood.

Hanzo fully dressed to the nines, as he is most of his waking hours, calmly walks over to the raging fireplace. He grasps the branding iron nestled in its clutches tightly, silver watch glittering in the light. With tender care, he pulls it from the fire. White hot, steaming. The Shimada clan logo shining brightly, no bigger than a softball. No matter its humble size, this is going to hurt like hell.

You look away, shutting your eyes tight as he brings it back with him. Can’t stand to look at it anymore. He places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes assuredly. Rubbing his cold, gloved thumb across your collarbone. 

“So that you, and no one else, will ever forget who you belong to.” He squeezes tighter, a lot less comforting and much more finite. “Do try to stay still. Scream as loud as you wish.”

No other warning is given. You could have seen it coming if the sight of it didn’t make you so sick to your stomach. He presses the blazing hot brand to your hip. It sears your skin. Forever marking you as Hanzo Shimada’s property.

You do scream, but only for so long. The pain is immense. White spots splatter the insides of your eyelids, darkness closes in and you pass out. 

When you wake you’re on the floor, not suspended in front of the fire, but laying next to it. You eye the dancing flames, feeling a lick of spite towards what is normally a comforting thing to be aside of. Your hips throb, a dull ache. Lifting up the thin sheets that cover you, you find that you’re bandaged. A big white square, adhered to your skin by medical tape. 

You jolt as Hanzo’s hand suddenly cups your chin. “You’re awake.” Fear warms your chest. He must be disappointed, angry even. He must think you weak, he must have some punishment in store for your transgression. You dare to look him in the eye. And find that the softness is still there. “You did well, my pet.” 

You could cry, you do cry. “Thank you,” you sob. 


End file.
